The Fail

They're moving in a cautious way that tells you something's up.

Their voices have a cheery veneer, but it's hooey. You can tell. They're saying things like, "Hey, it's alright, it's gonna be OK," and you want to believe that, you really do... but it's fake. It's all fake.

You're a simple sort, one that doesn't do deceit. You can't pretend to be calm or happy when you aren't.

The last time this happened, you got taken away.

Alright, so the place you were living before might not have had regular meals, or enough time to stretch your legs outside. Maybe you got ignored a lot, or yelled at. Locked outside in the garden at night with no shelter. Even in wintertime.

There's something to be said for familiarity, though, isn't there? Even if it's not nice, it's predictable. That makes you feel safe.

It was hard to be taken from all you'd ever known, all you could remember. To have to learn a new predictable. New routines. Everything smelling wrong. Different people. Children. Ugh. All trying to pat pat pat. Gabbling at you in a weird language.

You're all alone, and you don't know anyone. Who's safe? Who is ready with a slap or a kick? Where can you hide, if you really need to? Is there a gap in a fence or a wobbly gate or anything like that? A way you can escape?

Then, just as you're beginning to uncoil, to soften around the edges. To learn, not just the hidey-holes, but the sunny spots. Not just meal times, which are regular, but snack-times, which are just as regular. And, you know what? The pat-patting isn't so bad after all.

Just as you're starting to get used to this new, better normal... it happens again.

You're standing here, cornered, with these People coming at you.

All the feelings vibrate through every wired muscle, and rumble up from your chest. You don't want to start again in another new house. New is the worst. New is scary.

Who knows what a new place might be like? It might be like this, which, okay, isn't too bad. Or it might be like before.

The nice lady in charge of snacktime puts a stop to it.

"Let's leave it for today, guys," she says. "He's really stressed out, let's not push it. He enjoys car rides, so I'll just pop him over to you tomorrow, how does that sound?"

You didn't understand a word of that, but there's a welcome feeling of Plans being dismantled and shelved, and the New People are leaving.

The door clicks behind them, and the man with a beard says,

"I know what you're thinking, and we can't."

Snack-lady turns her puppydog eyes on him.

"But look how well he settled! And he really really didn't want to leave, did you, Val?"

Beard scowls and huffs, but only a little bit.

One of the half-grown pups walks in and beams when he sees you.

"Val's still here! Does that mean he's staying then?"

You like this pup. He sneaks you bits off his plate when no one is looking. You snuffle at his hands and pockets in case he has any snacks he might have forgotten about.

"Well..." Snack-lady sounds hesitant.

Beard sighs.

"You'd better ring them and let them know you won't be dropping him off, tomorrow."

Snack-lady beams, and so do you.

The words don't mean much, but it feels like your future has just been folded into a cosy blanket for you to snuggle into. It feels pretty good.

+

Thank you for reading!

More doggy goodness:

See you tomorrow!